


Pandemonium

by Dragonwithatale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Canon Divergent, Castiel Whump (Supernatural), Collared Castiel (Supernatural), Dean/Demons, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Forced Arousal, Forced to rape, M/M, No Lube, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Groping, Noncon anal sex, Post 9x23, Sam Winchester Whump, Spit As Lube, Top Dean Winchester, Top Sam Winchester, Wing Kink, everywhere a whump whump, first time sastiel, free range id, magical compulsion spell collar, noncon fingering, sam/demons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24938413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonwithatale/pseuds/Dragonwithatale
Summary: Dean has been missing for months.  Sam and Castiel have been searching, and they think they’re prepared to find anything.  They’re wrong about that.What they find is a kettle of demons who decide to have fun.
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 54
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	Pandemonium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Annvian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annvian/gifts).



> Written for the 2020 nonconathon

Sam and Castiel left the impala miles back, working silently towards the old cabin in the woods. The forest is quiet in the dark, amplifying every heartbeat while damp leaves muffle their footfalls. Sam doesn’t know if he’s more nervous about what they might find or that this might be another dead end.

Three months since Dean vanished into thin air. All Sam found then was a trail of blood in a dark warehouse and all he’s found since are rumors and demons laughing in his face. But this seemed like a solid lead, as solid as a lead can be when you’ve tortured it out of someone.

Dean will be here.

The cabin finally appears through the trees, ramshackle and abandoned long ago, lights all dark in the night. No one standing watch on the porch as they cautiously approach, no sign of anyone in the forest surrounding. The door is unlocked, barely creaking as Sam nudges it open. By unspoken agreement Castiel enters first, angel blade at the ready, and Sam follows with gun and flashlight drawn. There’s barely anything to search; the living space and kitchen are empty but clean, no cobwebs or dust or the scent of mildew and abandonment. Two closed doors lead to a tiny bathroom and a bedroom; Sam has to pause, leaning against the doorframe after Cas clears the room, to take in the blood dried on the rumpled sheets and shackles attached to the corners of the frame. There’s a faint scent of sex lingering that makes him feel ill.

_ Did we just miss him? _ Sam wonders bleakly. God, if they were just a few hours too late… if Dean had even been here. If he was still alive.

A faint groan breaks the heavy silence, and both Sam and Cas whirl to face the living room. No one there, but the adrenaline lingers.

“Cellar?” Sam whispers. Cas nods after a moment. It doesn’t take long to find the trapdoor; this time Sam goes first, sweeping the room below as it comes into view and expecting with every creaking step downward to be pulled off his feet. Chains and bloodstains decorate the concrete walls and floor, and there’s no questioning that there were demons here when it feels like he’s back in Hell; when he reaches the bottom and turns to the back wall his flashlight lands on pale skin, a naked figure kneeling with his hands chained up overhead and head bowed.

“Dean,” he breathes out. “Cas!” Sam holsters his gun as he moves over to where Dean is and crouches in front of him. His hands shake as he checks for a pulse. Green eyes lift from the floor to blink dully back at him, squinting against the light. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes sir,” Dean mumbles, and Sam’s heart breaks. God, what have they put him through in the last three months? No fresh wounds mar Dean’s skin, no bruises at his hips; the ink of his tattoo is unbroken. All the scars visible are familiar ones, things Sam helped stitch up, the angry red lines of the Mark on his arm.

Sam jumps when Cas appears at his side, kneeling in front of Dean to cradle his face gently. The flurry of emotions, relief and anger and grief, that flash across Cas’ face make Sam feel like he’s intruding. The love between them always has, but even more since Cas confessed, one drunken night after Dean vanished, that they’d finally gotten together. Sam gets to his feet instead and fishes for his lockpicks.

“We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?” Cas speaks softly, but Dean still looks down, pulling in on himself.

“Damnit I’m not finding a keyhole,” Sam hisses in frustration as he turns the metal over in his hands. The cuffs have runes etched into them that he doesn’t recognize, the chains are thick and solid; he can’t quite make out how they’re attached to the ceiling, but it’s the only weak point they can use. “Cas, you’re gonna have to—“

Something invisible slams into Sam, tossing him through the air like a ragdoll. The pain as he flies into the wall whites out the room for a moment; it fades, becomes points of pressure across his body, cracking his ribs and pinning him a few inches above the floor. He can’t do anything but stare blindly as Castiel fights in the near dark. His flashlight lies discarded on the ground, beam shining into the corner in a very unhelpful manner. He can’t even count how many opponents there are, and then it doesn’t matter: Cas pins one to the ground and raises his blade and cold metal presses up under Sam’s jaw.

“Castiel! Drop it or Sam goes bye bye.” Black eyes stare back at him as the demon cocks the gun for emphasis. Sam swallows hard.

“Don’t—“ is all the protest Sam gets out before he hears the clatter of Castiel’s blade on the concrete. Shit. Predictably, regrettably, the demons don’t hold back. Someone kicks Cas’ blade away and then all Sam can hear is the sound of fists hitting flesh and Cas groaning in pain. In far too short a time, they have him pinned.

The lights flicker on, not very bright but nevertheless it makes Sam wince. Five demons in the room, eyes black and all armed; and a sixth comes down the stairs with handcuffs and chains and a collar. Cas struggles against the ones holding him as the cuffs close around his wrists and gets kicked in the ribs for his troubles. And then he’s dragged up by his hair while the collar is locked around his neck.

“Much better.” The demon facing Sam pulls the gun away with a grin. “Kneel, Castiel.”

Red light flares along the iron, tracing the lines of the runes there, and Cas hisses in pain. It’s a struggle to get up to his knees with his hands behind his back, and by the time he manages it he’s panting. Only once he’s sat back on his heels do the runes fade. Sam swallows thickly; that explains why there was no obvious sign of torture on Dean.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Fuck you,” Cas growls back.

“Other way around, blue eyes,” the demon laughs, and his friends join in. It’s chilling to hear. “Let’s start with something simpler though. Show us your wings, pretty.”

“No.” The runes start glowing, and Castiel clenches his jaw stubbornly against the pain. It only helps for so long, and then a groan slips out. And another. Whimper after whimper, and Sam can’t even lift a finger as Cas slowly bows under the pain. Sam can see him shaking before the leader gets annoyed, or bored, and repeats the order. The runes flare again and Cas screams this time. And screams. And he’s not stopping even though his voice is breaking.

“Stop!” The demons ignore him, the only reaction to Sam yelling is a chuckle from one of the demons and a fearful glance from Dean; once his swearing turns to begging, the pressure holding Sam to the wall vanishes. He lands on his feet, ready to take a swing at whoever’s closest, but the expression on the leader’s face… It’s like Sam’s been plunged into a frozen lake, a numb cold horror fills him, leaving him tense and weak at the same time. The demon looks hungry, and Sam knows where this is going. He can do this, though, he can handle whatever they dish out, he’s been through worse. 

“Alright, Winchester. Strip.”

Sam starts to protest, Cas is still in pain, but the red light flares and Sam snaps his mouth shut. Jacket and overshirt come off first, then the button up. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he can pull the t-shirt up over his head. It’s more than just the chill in the air causing his skin to gooseflesh. They’re all watching now, all hungry, and everything in Sam is saying bolt for the stairs, run, but he won’t make it. He needs to play along, play this smart, watch for a weakness, a point to set a trap or spring an exorcism.

Socks and shoes next. His hands freeze on his belt, shaking slightly; it takes forever to move again, to undo the buckle and button and fly, to force jeans and boxers both down his legs and step out of them. Someone whistles and Sam flinches, barely stops his hands from jerking forward to cover himself. All part of the plan, he can get through this. Cas seems to be hurting less though, which was the point, and Sam firms his jaw and looks at the leader square in the eye, cocking his head in the best “your move fuckface” he can manage.

“Cocky, aren’t you,” the demon chuckles. His gaze drops down Sam’s body and Sam flushes, clenching his hands into fists. “Come here.”

Deep breath, slow exhale; panic won’t help. It’s three steps to where the demon is pointing. Sam’s expecting to be ordered to his knees, have his jaw forced open or be shoved down on all fours. Instead he’s circled, looked up and down from head to toe. Fingers reach out and brush lightly against his skin, tracing the line of a shoulder blade, skimming across his ribs; rest against his lower stomach and make him twitch away, trail up to lift his chin and trace over his lips. Heat flushes his chest and face; it’s worse when he looks past the demon and Dean is watching him. Sam glances away before he can see the judgement there, or worse if there’s nothing there at all. 

Cas is down to whimpering sobs instead of screams, head resting against the cold concrete as tremors rack his body. Sam clings to that as the demon circles back around behind him. A hand wraps possessively around his hip and pulls him back, bare ass against rough denim and a very evident erection. Sam closes his eyes and breathes, fighting against the hummingbird fast thrum of his panicked heartbeat as the demon grinds against him, slides his hand further to wrap cold fingers around Sam’s own limp cock.

“Shhh,” he whispers as Sam tries to desperately swallow the whimpers that want to slip out. He blinks and tries to focus on the wall, the cold floor under his bare feet, counting his breaths. He was expecting pain, not this slow humiliation, not a hand on his belly holding him in place while a monster strokes and grinds and plays. Not six voices murmuring hungrily when his body starts to respond, unwanted warmth in his groin, arousal curling around nausea.

“Leave him alone,” Castiel rasps, glaring up at them. He curls back in on himself with a groan, bites out the word “please.”

“If you’re not going to play,” the demon licks a stripe up Sam’s neck, “then shut the fuck up.” One hand lets go of Sam and comes back; Sam can feel him fumbling with his zipper and then there’s skin against skin, hot cock sliding along the crack of his ass and nudging his hole. It’s impossible not to tense, even though Sam knows that’ll make it worse.

Rustling fills the air and then suddenly there’s two massive wings sprouting from Castiel’s shoulders; they’re not what Sam was expecting, bare in places, broken feathers, mangled and pitiful and incredible. Cas pulls them tight to his back almost immediately.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” The demon stops rocking against him, stops pressing up into him, but he doesn’t let go. Keeps stroking Sam slowly from root to tip. No order is given but the other watchers spring to life — Castiel is shoved forward to sprawl on the ground and Sam watches as they cut his clothing off strip by strip. He recognizes, in a distant fashion, the same resigned panic in Cas’ body language that he’s feeling himself. Keeping each other alive means surrender, and the demons know how to leverage their love for each other, and for Dean.

They might not, he reflects, be getting out of this at all.

One of them drags Cas up to his knees and attaches a chain to the collar — it seems like the metal melts together — and then pulls him forward a few shuffling steps to the center of the room. Cas’ wings flare as he moves, struggling to stay balanced with the extra weight and his hands cuffed behind his back.

“I’ve got a proposition for you, Sam,” the demon breathes hot in his ear. “You and I can keep doing what we’re doing, and my boys can have their fun with Feathers here…”

“Or?” Sam grits out.

“Whatever he’s offering Sam, don’t — oof!” Cas goes sprawling as his handler shoves him; the demon does something and when Cas tries to get up again he’s pulled short a foot off the ground. The chain is fused with the floor. The one molesting Sam groans appreciatively as Cas is forced to kneel wider with a few well aimed kicks.

“Or you get him ready for us.” Sam’s mind goes blank. They want him to rape Cas. They want him to  _ rape Cas _ . This can’t be happening. Except it is, there’s a cock snugged comfortably against Sam’s ass insisting that it very much is happening, and five other demons in the room and Sam hadn’t noticed how many are hard and touching themselves slowly over their clothes. There’s a room upstairs with chains and bloodstains that says this has happened already. The  _ no _ bubbles up hysterically inside of Sam, and he barely stamps it down before it escapes.

This is happening.  _ Think _ , Sam, and make it fast.

“Hell, you put on a good enough show and maybe they can wait a while.”

That may be a lie. It may be the truth. But. But if Sam does this, he can get close enough to study the cuffs and collar. And he will be gentler than the demons.

“Need an answer here, Sam.”

There are no good choices. Not even on the level of “I can live with this”, because saying no means watching five demons tear into his friend while he gets raped himself, and saying yes means doing something neither Castiel or Dean will ever forgive. But there is less pain.

“Alright. I’ll do it.”

It feels like he’s watching himself from somewhere distant. Sam kneels on the floor behind Castiel and strokes a hand soothingly along Cas’ spine, rubbing tiny circles with his thumb. He can’t see the collar from here, but the cuffs are tight against Cas’ wrists where they lie in the small of his back. The symbols are no language he recognizes; he memorizes them carefully, noting every line and twist. He slicks two fingers on the other hand with his own spit and gently presses and rubs at Cas’ hole. Cas pleads with him not to do this as he works his way in, moving too fast and as slow as he dares with black hollow eyes staring from every direction. When his petting reaches up into Cas’ feathers the angel shudders, and Sam starts to pull back. But Cas moans on an exhale, and it’s not horror or disgust; it’s pleasure mixed with shame.

Sam will feel bad about this later. He starts caressing the angel’s wings, digging his fingers in as he scissors with the other hand. And Cas starts relaxing, dropping his head and shoulders to rest on the floor and arching his back. Spreading his wings wider, feathers standing on end in invitation. Shivers and moans and pants, and Sam knows that Cas doesn’t want this but it sounds like he does, and Cas is opening up for him, rocking back slightly. Sam’s body responds in kind, cock filling out from the half-arousal forced on him to something hard enough to be useful.

The demons shuffle restlessly around them, and Sam pulls his fingers out. More spit on his cock, and he hates how good his hand feels as he strokes himself, and then he lines himself up. Cas tenses, and there’s no time to soothe him. Just press forward, slide bit by bit into tight heat, hold Cas hips still as he tries to jerk away. In and out in tiny hitching thrusts that have Sam biting his lip, until he’s flush with Cas’ ass.

There’s not enough lube for this not to hurt, and Cas is still too tense, but Sam moves anyways. Curls himself forward enough to start stroking the space between Cas’ wings, finds a steady rhythm as Castiel’s half-broken cries of “please” and “no” and “don’t” become “please” and “Sam”. Panting moans and soft “ah!” noises when Sam finds the right spot, and Cas rocks back against him, wings flaring wide in pleasure. It’s a surprise when Cas comes, clenching around Sam in too-tight-yet-not-enough pulses as he spills on the floor.

Black eyes all around, hungry grins as they pleasure themselves, and Sam knows he can’t stop yet. Thrusts harder, skin on skin loud and echoing as Cas sobs from overstimulation. It’s a mistake to look up at Dean, he expected that blank stare still; he finds a demon kneeling behind his brother, hand flying up and down Dean’s flushed cock, and plain unbridled pleasure as Dean watches them. Watches his brother raping his lover.

Sam closes his eyes and forgets it all, none of this is happening, just the warm tight hole he’s fucking into, just the heat pooling in his gut, just the pounding and fucking and chasing the pleasure he has no right to, that he’s stolen. Sam comes with a sob, heart shattered as he thrusts a few more times and slows and stops, bowed over Castiel’s back.

The guilt fades back in as he looks down at what he’s done. Cas is ruined, covered in sweat and tears and pinkish white come that runs down Cas’ legs as he pulls out. Sam’s dick falls with a wet slap against his thigh and he wants to puke, he wants to scream, wants to stop the shaking and trembling. Castiel slumps forward and lands on his side, and Sam can’t think about the emptiness in his eyes.

“Not bad, Sammy.”

Sam lifts his head in confusion to stare at Dean, and the world drops out from under him.

Black eyes look back at him with a pleased smirk. Dean moves his hands and the cuffs fall away, and he stands and stalks toward them as fluid as a shark through the water, naked and proud. The tattoo on his chest is still there, still intact and protecting him, and the other demons have moved away like they’re afraid of him. He strokes himself a few times as he examines Cas, groaning softly in obvious pleasure at what he sees.

“Dean?” Sam sounds confused and lost, even to himself.

Dean glances at him and that invisible force sends him flying across the room. “Not now, Sam.”

It’s the makings of a nightmare. Sam can’t move, can’t breathe, there’s not enough air anywhere; Dean undoes the chain on Castiel’s neck with a snap of his fingers, rolls Cas onto his back and kneels between his legs and kisses Cas until the angel responds, whispers “Dean?” in horror.

“You’re such a slut, Cas.” It’s fond and playful and Dean is anything but that as he adjusts Cas’ hips and lines himself up and slams into Cas. The angel groans in response, shaking his head. “Nuh uh, none of that. You want this. Well,” and here there’s a chuckle, “You will by the time I’m done.”

Sam closes his eyes and prays.

**Author's Note:**

> Pandemonium - “in the midst of all demons”. I am nothing if not an utter smartass.
> 
> I do have a multitude of angsty ideas for what might happen next but I am behaving and not adopting another longfic until after nonconathon is over >.>


End file.
